*******

Chapter One: Samwise

Sam got up from the chair with a sigh. It was late. Elanor was fast asleep on his arms and all the house was quiet. Silently, the hobbit carried her to her room and laid her down under the blanket. Tucking his daughter in and giving her a light kiss on the forehead, Sam departed.

He stood for a while in the corridor, not really thinking anything. He walked slowly down to the front door and drew the latch home. He turned back and gazed into the darkness.

"...I'll always be in the dark now."

He shuddered at the memory and cast it from his thoughts. Frodo was free now. From pain of wounds and mind. Shouldn't he be grateful for that? Sam approached the door at the far end of the hall. He let his fingers brush the wood gently. Then, with a deep breath, he pushed down the handle and entered the room beyond. It was like walking into a tomb. Everything cold and lifeless. Even the air itself felt dead on his skin. He stared round. It seemed to him that the very room had changed. Devoid of light or cheer. Just a shadowy chasm gasping before him, still, empty.

Sam crossed over to the desk. The Red Book was there, lying open, a few last inky words at the corner of the page.

"The rest is for you."

Frodo's words seemed to echo all around at that moment. Sam stifled a sob. He sat down before the desk and reached for the quill, sitting forlornly to one side. But as he did so, in the moon's faltering beams, he saw something lying beneath the feathers. He drew it out and examined it. It was a wad of papers folded up. On the front was marked simply- "Sam."

With shaking hands, he uncreased the pages and let his eyes drift over the words.

'Dearest Sam,

I know that when I am gone, I shall grieve for you. I will weep for your presence. And I know that you will weep in turn for mine. But no answers will come in tears, Sam. Both of us must remember that. To find peace, I have to leave you and you always understood that. Maybe I will be able to come back sometime- see the Shire again. See the Fellowship again. I wonder what it will be like in the Undying Lands. Many changes? Or will things remain the same?

I'm sorry, Sam. I cannot think what else I can say to you. Just that I know you will understand better than anyone. My best friend.

Love, Frodo.'

Sam hiccuped as a sob caught in his throat. He wiped a hand over his eyes and then drew out the other papers. There were letters, notes, farewells, poems and a hundred other things. All written for Frodo's friends and family. The hobbit did not read the other letters, feeling that whatever Frodo said to others was not for him to know. But he pored over the Elvish phrases, the maps and essays of the things Frodo had seen. At the corner of one of these, Sam found a small drawing. Of a Ring. He tore the paper in half and let it flutter to the ground. It was that cursed Ring that had crushed his master. Even after Its destruction did It toy with his mind. And Sam despised It above all other things. It was because of the Ring that Sam had failed Frodo. And Frodo had had to go as far as leaving everything behind to find healing.

"Come back," Sam murmured, "You don't have to go. I don't want to understand. Come back, Mister Frodo!"

The words died at his lips and a cold silence fell once more. And it sank into Sam's heart that his master was not coming back. Frodo had gone. He was not in pain any more. He was with Gandalf and the Lady Galadriel. He was safe. ...But he was gone.

"Frodo..." Sam whispered. Then he dissolved into tears.

--

"Sam? Sam, love?" Rosie called, wandering out from her room. She checked on Elanor. Sam was not there either. Abruptly, she stopped in her tracks. She turned back into the corridor.

Rosie quietly opened the door to Frodo's room and peered inside. Sam was sleeping soundly at the desk, his head resting on a pile of tear-stained papers. Next to him lay a small red book, blotched with ink. Carefully, the hobbit-wife lifted it up and read the first line.

'Dear Frodo...'

*******

Chapter Two: Meriadoc

Merry pushed open the door and slowly walked inside. He dropped down into an armchair, without removing cloak or pack. He just wanted to tear everything from his head and let all memories fade. There was so much lost that could not be restored. He did not really know what to feel. Only emptiness. He could not find a way of accepting it or even realising it. Frodo was always there. That was the sort of hobbit he was. A familiar presence. How could he have gone?

Merry got to his feet and paused. Elvish words drifted through his mind. A song of farewell from Lothlórien. A silent message that he hoped might reach Frodo, wherever he sailed now. Free. But really gone? How could that be? Frodo had tried to escape his friends once before but they had followed. He had not been forced to walk alone. Yet now he was wandering the Endless Sea and there was nothing Merry could do to pursue him. His brow furrowed as an unreasonable anger pounded through him.

"They took him away! From me, Pip and worst of all, they took him from Sam! What's Sam going to do without Frodo? Answer me that!"

He stopped and shook his head. No one would hear him. And it would not bring his cousin back. But didn't he care? Hadn't he cared whether others would miss him? Just gone off so that all his pain would pass to his companions. The hobbit broke his trail of thoughts and crushed them. It took Frodo years to get up enough courage to leave. He would never want to hurt his friends, Merry knew that. He just...ran out of choices.

Slowly, Merry slipped off his gear. Then he just stood. There were no emotions. There were no tears. He just stood there, remembering all the times he had spent with Frodo. The laughter, the sadness, the secrets and tales. They were now all that remained of him on Middle-Earth. Nothing more than memory. Merry missed him. So much that it made his very heart throb with pain. He needed something to keep Frodo there. An anchor to secure those memories.

As one in a trance, he ascended the stairs and walked across the landing to the study. In quiet solemnity, Merry took a sheet of parchment from the desk drawer and plucked the quill from its inkpot.

'Dear Frodo...'

*******

Chapter Three: Peregrin

Pippin was sitting on the hilltop, his pack cast to one side. He gazed around as the morning unfolded about him. But it was blurred with his tears. Far away, the sea glistened brightly and the crests of waves dotted the vast blue landscape. The little hobbit squinted to see if he could make out the ship on the horizon. But it was long gone. Pippin gulped and clutched at his scarf, curling his fingers in the soft material.

Frodo had abandoned him. Or at least, that it what he believed. He was not quite sure. He was not used to being alone. And he did not want to face this alone. Frodo had left them all. What if now, one by one, all his friends left? Sam and Merry might try and follow Frodo. And Pippin was terrified of being left behind.

"Why did you have to go? You must have known we loved you and how much we wanted you to be happy. We could have taken care of you," he said quietly.

He was tired of having to understanding and be strong so that he would be considered able for adventures. That was all behind them now. So why had Frodo left? Because of the Ring. Why else? It had been the cause of all the world's misery. It had rained death upon innocent people. It had made Frodo leave. Darkness had claimed so very many. All for power. To have dominion over all others. Pippin scowled to himself. He had seen the men at Minas Tirith- like ones without souls, doomed to remain with the living. War destroyed whole cities of good people and for whatever cause, war could never be worth all those lives. Frodo had been a true hero. Even in saving the Shire, he had not wanted blood. In Pippin's eyes, he had grown as wise as Gandalf. No one would understand better than Frodo had this moment. But he was the very reason Pippin was grieving.

Maybe, if all that was true, Frodo had not abandoned them. Instead he was making the last self-sacrifice of his life. Now the Ring no longer haunted the Shire. It had finally burned out. Pippin lowered his eyes to the dry earth, He wanted Frodo to live forever. He wanted him to tell the hobbit children wonderful stories. He wanted him to grow old and let his laughter ring throughout Hobbiton. He wanted him to have stayed. But perhaps Frodo could not do all those things. At least, not this time.

Pippin shouldered his pack and looked back to the hill. A little piece of worn paper fluttered at its summit, waiting for the wind to carry it to Valinor.

'Dear Frodo...'

~ A.J